Abstract

Here sits Chaerephon, up in the clouds, 41000 feet over Sparta, New Jersey, treading the air and looking down on the sun, strapped in his metal basket, connected to a nine-station musical stethoscope, suspending his judgement, and subtly blending his intellect with the mystic vapors from a bottle of Fratelli Bolla, produttori di Verona. On the tray is a pile of Babylonian Euphrates sesame wafers; a cup of tasteless yet seemingly indispensable American coffee laced with cancerogenic saccharin; a complimentary copy of the Ambassador; and a special Oktoberfest cardboard lunch with pictures of plethoric boys in short trousers, playing the